


The Greatest Gift

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, First Time, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>t's Christmas, and Professor McGonagall has decided, much to Draco Malfoy's disgruntlement, that all students remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas are required to take part in a Secret Santa program. When Draco becomes Harry Potter's Secret Santa, he's at his wit's end, but can he use this opportunity to nab the only boy he's ever really wanted? Eighth-year fic, three-shot. Written when I was 14, so be gentle!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: EWE. Eight-year. First-person POV. This fic is centered around homosexual love and the next chapters might contain more fluff than is really necessary. The last chapter will most likely contain an explicit scene of smut if I deem the writing abilities displayed by my 14-year-old self not too embarrassing to share. Also, there are mentions of Blaise/Hermione, though merely implied and not actually seen graphically, as well as insignificant mentions of a past Harry/Ginny that will play no important role in this fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but those rights would be the perfect Christmas gift! And this story is written in the spirit of Christmas...and not for monetary gain.

Draco's POV

"This is ridiculous!" I yelled as I shoved my way through the crowd of eager students rushing to dinner after dutifully attending an entire day of nerve-wracking lessons and study sessions. Hours of wand-waving, incantation-reciting and note-taking really could work up an appetite. "I never thought it'd happen, but Hogwarts has officially lost it!"

At my side, also fighting against the sea of pupils, my best friend Blaise laughed at my obvious disgruntlement. "Come on, it's not _that_ bad," he chided me in his mock-scolding tone, one he used very often around me as he constantly accused me of being a nuisance. I assure you I was anything but a nuisance – merely peeved at the dramatic turn of events.

"Speak for yourself," I said, shooting him a glare. "I refuse to take part in this…this time-waster of an affair!"

My declaration was met by an exasperated stare from Blaise as we started to descend one of the many grand staircases, away from our Eighth Year Potions classes which were taken in a separate room from all the other standard years. "Salazar, it's not like the world is ending," he exclaimed, his dark brown eyes rolling in annoyance. "It's just a little school program to promote a bit of house unity. If there's one lesson we've learned from the War, it's that we have to stand together. Besides, it's that time of year for giving, anyway."

I couldn't stop myself from raising an eyebrow. Blaise had become particularly philosophical since the beginning of our so-called Eighth Year. Not only was he dating that Mud…Muggleborn, Granger, but he had also turned into someone a little too mentally mature for my liking. "It's only Christmas," I snorted. "Heck, I'd rather go back to the Manor than spend Christmas here if _that's_ the kind of thing we'll being doing for the holiday." I turned my head away from him to make sure he understood my defiance, which only resulted in my not noticing that the step on the stairs in front of me had vanished. I let out an embarrassing yelp as I slipped through it. Just when I was sure I'd either get caught in it or fall into a completely different stairwell below it, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me back to safety. Originally, I assumed it was Blaise, but my best friend had been walking on my right, and I had been saved from the left, so who…?

"You should know better than that by now, Malfoy," a cheerful voice greeted me.

I recognized that voice in an instant and hesitated a moment before glancing up at my rescuer. Even though I had mentally prepared and physically braced myself for the impact of looking into those eyes, nothing could ever fully ready me for the sensations that came next – the sudden skip in my heartbeat, the tingle of my skin where he held me, the feeling that I was getting lost in those beautiful, emerald eyes…

"Potter," I replied, quickly straightening myself out and hurriedly putting as much distance between his body and mine. "Still haven't gotten over your dumb urge to save the everyone in the world, I see."

He offered me a brief but sincere smile that sent my pulse racing to a dangerous speed. "Yes, you're welcome, Malfoy, it's nice to see you too," he laughed. "Blaise," he added by means of acknowledgement. Before I could reply, he had turned and continued down the stairs, leaving Blaise and I behind in the crowd.

Blaise was chuckling beside me, and even the glare I shot him failed to quiet him. "You're pathetic," he chided me good-naturedly. "Why don't you just say something already?"

"Shut up," I mumbled shamefacedly. Yes, you can all close your gaping jaws now, I have been gay since the day I first saw Harry (yes, I call him that in my brain, get over it) in Madame Malkin's. Despite trying to get with girls for several years, desperate to prove to myself and my disappointed family that I was _not_ a budding homosexual who would be unable to produce an heir to the Malfoy legacy, the fact remained that I was just not attracted to women. Pansy had been nothing but an immense turn-off for me (though I could just put that down to her unattractive features), and even the beautiful Astoria Greengrass (who I was originally supposed to marry after we both graduated, but has now turned into one of my dearest confidants and most treasured friends) did nothing to my heart rate. There was no doubting it – I was terribly gay.

"Seriously, man, you've only got half a year left before we graduate," Blaise was advising me when I finally shook myself out of my frozen daze. "You haven't much to lose."

"Aside from my reputation and whatever respect my family has left for me," I responded, flustered as tried to remove whatever blush was left on my face with deep, calming breaths. "Plus, he doesn't play for my team – he's with that Weasellete."

My best friend shrugged as if the fact barely concerned him. "Yeah, but last I heard, he broke up with her with a single sentence that sent her running and crying to the girls' bathroom."

"No kidding?" I asked, trying not to look too interested, but failing miserably despite my efforts. "He got her bawling with one bloody sentence? Must have been 'you're fat'," I snickered.

"Be nice," he reprimanded me, smacking my shoulder. "These are only rumours, but they've definitely called it quits. Hermione tells me that Harry and Ron haven't been on speaking terms for a while either."

It really disturbed me how easily Blaise called Harry by his first name so effortlessly while I struggled to conceal the fact that I thought of him as Harry too. And the way Harry called Blaise by _his_ first name made me feel very insecure, invisible, and…dare I say jealous? But that was unreasonable of me, wasn't it? Blaise was Granger's boyfriend; it was only natural that he became friends with her friends. It was the mature thing to do to be understanding about this situation.

Then again, since when did _I_ ever care about being unreasonable? Or immature?

"Anyway, as I was saying, I will not be a part of this dumb Christmas tradition!" I said, hastily changing the subject, going back to my original rant.

Again, Blaise laughed, knowing full well I was only trying to get out of the situation, but thankfully he let it slide and didn't comment. "Well, I'm all for it," he responded instead. "In fact, I think it's brilliant of McGonagall."

I stared at him incredulously. "Granger has officially gotten to your head."

He groaned at my tactless, but nevertheless true, accusation. "It's just a Secret Santa program, Draco. Not a declaration from Merlin that all Wizards are required to be abstinent."

I snorted at his comment just as a familiar voice piped up beside me and the pretty, two-year-younger Astoria appeared out of practically nowhere. "Draco's going to be abstinent? That'll be the day," she grinned, flashing her perfect pearly white teeth at us. Not in the mood for an actual conversation, I huffed in a disgruntled manner and turned my face away in the most childish way you can possibly imagine. "What's up?" she asked, ignoring my decision to shun her.

"Not much," Blaise replied with an equally wide smile. "Please forgive Draco, he's just had a run in with Harry."

Astoria giggled, causing several heads to turn her way. There was no denying her beauty – she was perfect by any man's standards – a slim, fit figure, long gorgeous locks of deep mahogany hair flowing past her shoulders and fluttering tantalizingly down her back before fading into wisps at her waistline, clear, glowing, fair skin, and the most mesmerizing, twinkling hazel eyes. If only I could see her that way and lust after her the way half the school did instead of ogling Harry Potter's ass.

"Why don't you just ask him out already, Drake?" she cooed, causing me to go red again. "It's so obvious already anyway, I bet he already knows."

"Shut up!" I said for the second time. "I'm not stupid, and I'm not mad because of Potter. I wouldn't waste my precious time on a half-blood like _him_."

"Of course you're not mad _because_ of him, you're mad _about_ him," she went on with another one of those too-cute-to-be-real laughs. "I'll admit there is a big difference."

"Would you keep it down?" I hissed, aware of the many eyes averted in our direction, mostly because of Astoria's presence.

"He claims to be peeved about the Secret Santa get-up," Blaise interjected, saving me from further humiliation.

"Sure he is," Astoria said with a characteristic roll of her eyes. "He detests all things that even mildly support the concept of unity." Then, she snapped suddenly back into a bubbly attitude. "I love it, though! I've already found out whose Secret Santa _I_ am. I can't wait!"

I shook my head indulgently at her excitement. We were all supposed to draw a name from a large replica of the Sorting Hat in the Great Hall before tonight, and from there we would find out who we had to give a gift to. "Who'd you get?"

"I can't tell you, then it won't be a secret anymore," she pouted. "But I'll spill the beans if you promise not to tell."

"My lips are sealed," I smirked, and Blaise nodded beside me.

"I got Luna Lovegood!" she exclaimed proudly. "It's going to be really fun; I'll get her something kooky she's sure to like."

I tried to refrain from showing my disgust, knowing that would only upset her. Astoria was almost too happy at times, overly optimistic, everything I wasn't and probably could never be, and for that, I admired her.

"I'll admit, she'd be easier to shop for than Potter," Blaise teased me, earning a well-placed elbow in the ribs. "Hmm…maybe you _should_ go after girls instead."

I leered at him angrily. Fantastic, really, having a so-called best friend who would betray you at any given time, when you least expect it. I half-turned to Astoria to ask for help, but she was snickering, too. "I hate you both," I declared in frustration.

"Oh, very mature," Astoria sneered, giving me a look that reminded me why this talented young witch was a Slytherin. "Anyway, I'm starving! Muggle Studies today was so _boring_ , I was thinking about dinner the whole time." She smiled a beam that would put the sun to shame as she led the way down the stairs, tugging at my hand when I originally refused to move. Not that I wanted to stay stranded amongst a crowd of famished students, it just boggled me how any self-respecting member of the Wizarding society could take Muggle studies…what a waste of potential and talent, to take up something like that for your N.E.W.T.S.

"Well, we're late for dinner," Blaise informed me. "Might as well go after her. We can draw names from the hat there."

I nodded, not willing to argue, and followed him down the stairs. My thoughts strayed immediately to Harry, but I pushed him out of my mind, knowing that no matter what I did, I would never get my hands on him. Let this be put as the first thing that a Malfoy wanted, but simply couldn't have.

As expected, the whole bloody school was abuzz with conversation as we swept into the Great Hall. The night had gotten so cold that even the great grounds of Hogwarts could not keep the blizzard's icy stupor out; it was as if winter had seized the entire school in its jaws to remind us of the damned Secret Santa program.

Not that I had anything specifically against it, or unity, as Astoria suggested earlier. It was just a waste of time and money, plus it was a reminder that I couldn't go home for Christmas to escape it. The Manor was no longer home to me, anyway. Father had been hauled off to Azkaban and Mother was in hiding, only sending me owls once a month to assure me that she was alright, a fact she assumed would comfort me. It didn't.

I wouldn't and couldn't go back to the Manor ever again. It was empty and cold, and worst of all, there was no closure for me. Which is why it's a big thing when I say I'd rather be back at the Manor than here at Hogwarts avoiding enchanted Mistletoe.

Besides, I positively loathed Christmas, or at least had an odd love-hate relationship with the tinsel-covered holiday. I loved it as a child because it had been the one time in the entire year when Father and Mother would hold hands and the Manor would be filled with relatives and family friends. And for once, my Father wouldn't look at me with guilt and doubt clouding his eyes that so resembled mine, and would hold himself upright for the public. And Mother would actually smile so wide that I could barely see through the illusion of happiness in her expression.

But I also hated it because it was fake. So pathetically fake. It was nothing more than a façade, a masquerade where we would do nothing more than put masks over our faces, convince everyone that we were joyful, when truthfully, we would give anything to be in different company, away from Death Eaters and poisonous acquaintances. Christmas in itself is a dumb tradition – all gifts and false smiles and pretending you love each other when you really want to hex everyone and everything in sight into oblivion. A farce.

"Draco? Draco!"

I snapped out of it and realized I had completely tuned out Astoria and Blaise for about ten minutes. "Huh?" I blinked, confused and puzzled, with the dumbest expression on my sharp features, a look worthy of any Hufflepuff.

"Were you even listening to me?" Astoria asked crossly, giving me her best pout.

"Sorry, darling, what was it?" I asked politely, always willing to indulge her. So perhaps I wasn't the nicest man who walked the earth, but I _had_ been brought up by a family of stiff and filthy rich purebloods, and manners had always been a priority in growing up. Basically, if I really wanted to, I knew how to be a gentleman.

"Sucking up to me isn't going to help," she replied stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"She was asking if you were going to try and find a way out of picking a name," Blaise informed me and I gave him a grateful look carefully disguised as a sneer.

"It's not worth getting into trouble for," I told her with my trademark sly smirk.

"Really?" she asked, brown eyes flashing with determination, and I knew I had gotten myself into trouble. "Then prove it. Draw a name now."

"What?" I exclaimed, trying not to furrow my brow at her demands. "But…"

"What's the matter, Drakey?" she dared me, grinning mischievously. "Too anxious to find out who it is?"

I felt my resolve weakening. Like I said, I couldn't help but indulge her, and she had just challenged my once puffed-up, already partially wounded ego, and a Malfoy must always defend that. "Fine," I spat, marching up to where the hat stood at the entrance of the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath, I plunged my hand into the hat and pulled out a single slip of paper, pushing it far into the pocket of my cloak without even glancing at it, then stormed back to where Blaise and Astoria stood waiting for me.

"Well?" Blaise asked curiously, wanting to know who I'd drawn.

"I'm not even going to bother to look," I said coldly. "I'll just end up disappointing whoever it is with the worst present they've ever received. I'll pick something random up at Hogsmeade this and hand it to the unlucky winner."

Astoria heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Well if you're going to be a wet blanket and not read it, I'm going to have some _real_ fun with people who _aren't_ party poopers," she declared, striding off to join some girls from her year at the other end of the hall. "Ta!" she called over her shoulder before being swallowed up by the crowd.

Blaise laughed weakly at her antics. "Sorry man, but I gotta go. Hermione's waiting for me and I know you hate the Gryffindor table. Ciao!" He gave me an apologetic grimace before taking off in that direction.

Trying not to get too annoyed at being abandoned by my only true companions, I made my way towards the Slytherin table and slid onto the empty spot in the far corner. As pitiful as it sounded, I had little to no friends aside from the two aforementioned – Goyle and I had been just awkward since Crabbe's death and Pansy hated my guts for ditching her. So, yes, this Malfoy swallowed his pride and sat alone at dinner almost every single day. It burned a hole in me to realize that I was no longer the acclaimed, popular Slytherin prince everyone wanted to be acquainted with.

Realizing I had lost my appetite, I sighed softly and reached into my pocket, wrenching the piece of paper from its folds, resisting the urge to roll my eyes as I smoothed it out, removing the crinkles and crumples. Whoever's name I had drawn would probably have the worst Christmas of their life, and strangely, that brought me some comfort.

Then I saw the name written in a too-familiar, untidy scrawl across the ruffled parchment, and my eyes flew wide open as my heart started hammering unhealthily in my chest.

" _Harry Potter._ "

* * *

Blaise's eyebrows had never been quite so close as to disappearing behind his hair as they had now, and never had he looked so pained and conflicted, trying to decide whether letting out the laugh he was barely holding back would cause me to hex him into the next century or not.

"Fuck you," I swore at him, and he finally couldn't take it anymore and burst into peals of laughter that hurt my ears.

"Re-ally-you-got-Ha-Ha-Harry…?" he choked out between gasps and snorts, so loudly half the common room probably overheard.

"Shut up!" I snapped frantically, waving my hands in front of him to display exactly how much I resented the way he was taking the news. "I told you this so you could _help_ me out, not make fun of me."

Quickly, Blaise assumed a serious expression, trying to appear as if the choking laughs were over, but failed miserably and cracked up again, this time bent double in his hilarity.

Astoria, who was luckily not quite as amused by my statement as Blaise, whacked him on the shoulder before turning to me and speaking. "Well, what are you getting him, then?"

"I don't know; that's what I need your help for!" I cried, trying not to let the chuckles issuing from my male best friend's mouth get to me and focus instead on her.

"I-th-th-thought you were go-gonna get someth-something r-r-r-random?" Blaise asked, still shaking with the most unrefined gurgles of laugher.

"Shut up," I repeated, this time giving him my best I'm-going-to-make-you-shit-your-pants stare. It didn't really work, but he seemed to finally get a grip and compose himself long enough to give me a sophisticated response.

"Well, I could ask Hermione for you, but we both know she'll tell me to tell you to ask her yourself," Blaise stated. "But she probably won't make it easy for you unless you tell her exactly why you want to impress him so much. And she won't tell you anything until you apologize properly for being so uncivil to her for the past eight years." He seemed to find these facts funny, however, as he burst into another laughing fit over it until Astoria gave him a death glare, which shut him up almost immediately. He amended, "But that's your best bet."

"Yeah, and that'll work," I replied with a snort. "Hey, Granger, sorry for calling you a Mudblood for nearly a decade. Oh, and I happen to have a serious crush on Potter, even though I've made his life miserable for eight years. Now that you know, kindly disregard my previous behavior and tell me what he wants for Christmas." I laughed humourlessly. "No fucking way, Blaise."

"Hey, language!" Astoria snapped at me.

"Yes, mother," I mumbled and she shot me the same look, instantly scaring the shit out of me and making me hold my tongue.

"I think it's worth a shot," she noted, fiddling with her hair as she thought it through. "I mean, what have you got to lose? If worse comes to worst, she'll just say 'no' and you won't be any worse off."

"Or she might tell Potter, and I'll be in a scrape of sorts," I muttered, causing Blaise to instantly leap to her defense.

"Hermione isn't that kind of person," he assured me. "Actually, I agree with Astoria. It's your best bet at getting him something he actually wants." He paused, as if considering something, and then said, "Hey, tell you what. I was supposed to meet her tonight but she insisted on studying alone in the library – you can meet her there. She should be there as we speak."

My eyes went what must have been comically wide at this revelation, because Astoria snickered before regaining composure. I wondered at both of their sanities. "Are you suggesting that I march over there right now?" I gaped. At his nod, I groaned. "That'll be a pleasant confrontation. I'll be lucky if I escape with half my arse still in place."

"That'd be shame, how would Potter ogle it then?" Blaise smirked.

"Shut up." It seemed to be a fairly overused phrase on my part. "I'm serious. She'll probably hex my balls off the second I appear in her immediate vicinity."

"Now, Draco," Blaise reprimanded, and I groaned inwardly at the preaching note he assumed easily. "If there's anything we've learned from last year's events, it's that we must never –"

"Zabini," I snapped. "Save the heroics for the masses, yeah?"

Astoria clicked her tongue somewhat impatiently. "Draco, do you want to get this guy or not?" she demanded, leaning in a little closer to get my attention.

"What do you think?" I shot back, not wanting to admit it out loud just yet.

"Well, there you have it," she said, sounding lightly satisfied. "Go and get him then."

I wondered if she had somehow lost her mind in that Muggle Studies class. "It's not that simple," I protested, but she seemed completely relaxed and wasn't really paying attention.

"He's not going to wait around forever," she laughed in a sing-song voice. "I'll bet he's already groveling, wondering how to get Ginevra back. Or maybe he's set his eyes on a new beau?"

Well, she always did know how to convince me. The sheer thought of Harry getting into a committed relationship and being unavailable _again_ was enough to cause a wave of possessive urgency and raging jealousy to pulse through my veins. Harry was _mine_ , and I'd be damned if anyone else got to him first. "Damn it, Astoria," I snapped, leaping out of my seat. I had to hand it to her, she knew exactly how to manipulate me – she wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. She would've made Salazar proud. In an instant, I was on my feet and dashing to the entrance of the common room.

"Good luck!" Astoria called, and I inwardly cursed myself for allowing someone to get to know me that well.

* * *

The library was quiet, as was to be expected – very few possessed the psychotic need to study at such an ungodly hour. Of course, Granger was one of that few, and I could see her instantly, frowning as she mulled over some atrociously large book or other.

I approached her, but even the sound of my footsteps didn't alert her of my presence, so I was forced to announce it with a rather unnatural clearing of my throat.

Her reaction was instantaneous – her eyes left the book, rested on me, widened and then formed into a glare reminiscent of the time she punched me in third year. I saw her hand fly down to grasp her wand in her pocket, instantly wary of any tricks I might have, which I found very, very unfair – wasn't it obvious that I, like so many others, had changed after the war?

"Granger," I said, trying to sound gentle but probably sounding cold instead.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Granger asked, her voice bordering on tense even as she fought to keep a calm posture.

I gestured to the chair across her. "May I?" She didn't respond, so I went over and sat down anyway. "I'm not going to say that I don't have some ulterior motive for this, because I do, but it's best to get this out of the way first – I apologize for how I've been treating you for the past few years."

One of her eyebrows raised. "Did Blaise put you up to this?" she questioned icily, not letting her guard down just yet.

I rolled my eyes. "No, Granger, he didn't."

"Then what's with the pleasantries?" she snapped, and I winced at the harshness of her tone – how did Blaise stand this creature?

"I require your assistance," I replied, deciding to get straight to the point.

"On what account?" she asked, closing her book and leaning away from me, as though repelled by the very thought of helping me at all. Salazar, I would never understand Blaise's taste in women. Or why he even liked women, for that fact – males weren't nearly as complicated.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the Secret Santa programme," I said quietly, glancing at her to gauge her reaction. She didn't react at all, unfortunately, and remained still as stone. "I've become Potter's Secret Santa and I would appreciate it if you told me what he might like for Christmas."

Granger immediately relaxed, and a smile quirked her lips as she left her wand in her pocket and reopened her book. "Fantastic," she said, in an almost-laugh.

Now, I don't admit to ever understanding girls, but Granger's response to my request had me even more baffled than usual. "How is _that_ fantastic?" I demanded, wondering why she wasn't threatening to hex my balls off if I sent him something potentially harmful. Was this some sort of joke? Had Blaise somehow gotten to her before I had and warned her?

She chose not to answer my question, instead deciding to lean in closer to me and whisper as if sharing a secret. "Trying to grab his attention as usual, huh?" she grinned, tilting her head to the side and giving me a questioning stare.

"I have no idea what you're going on about," I snapped, instantly forgetting to be nice to her upon hearing such an accusation. I mean, yes, it was true, but Granger didn't need to know that.

Granger laughed, quietly because of the venue we were in. "Why do you care what you get Harry?" she asked, shrugging. "I mean, you could always get him something from a prank shop or give him a sweet that will turn him purple for a day." I frowned, trying to make sense of what she was saying, but before I could ask she went on, "Even if you were trying to be nice, you could just get him some pretty little card or some chocolates."

"I don't see where you're going with this, Granger," I admitted, a warning in my tone.

She chuckled. "Let's face it, Malfoy – you've got it bad for Harry."

My jaw dropped at her words. My hearts started to do that unhealthy racing thing again, and I fought very hard against my pale complexion to refrain from flushing. That darned Blaise…had he told her my secret? I'd have to have a talk with him later – a talk that would have him screaming like a girl as he fell to the floor in pieces. "What?" I finally managed to croak out after several minutes of speechlessness. "No, I most certainly do _not_ have any feelings for that…for that Scarhead!" I protested.

Her expression was mildly amused as she rolled her eyes with a satisfied half-smile. "I'm afraid I can't help you if you don't help yourself," she informed me, standing up slowly. She pushed her chair into the table and picked up her book, then turned towards the shelves. "Good night, Malfoy."

I stared after her, completely at a loss, as she disappeared behind one of the shelves to keep the book. Was she expecting me to admit it out loud? Wasn't she going to tell me what Harry wanted?

"Damn it," I swore under my breath, then got up to follow her. I found her tiptoeing to reach an upper shelf in one of the back racks. She gave me a small, semi-triumphant grin as she finally forced the book back into place.

"Is there something you wanted, Malfoy?" she asked coolly.

"Why can't I want to be nice to Potter for a change?" I snapped. "Maybe I just want to thank him for saving my arse during the war. I don't have to actually _like_ the prick."

Granger shouldered her bag more securely as she turned to me. "If that was true, you would have told me that when you first asked for my help."

I shot her the iciest glare I could manage. "Fine," I said, settling for a half-truth. "I _do_ want to gain his friendship, because I'm still sore at how he rejected my hand in front of everyone in First Year."

To my utter dismay, the frizzy-haired Gryffindor shook her head. "I'm not blind, you know," she said simply. "Have a good night." She turned and slowly started to walk off.

_Fuck it!_ This was my only chance, and she was playing me as well as any Slytherin would, like Astoria – or was it just natural girl cunning? "Granger!" I called.

She smiled sweetly as she turned to face me. "Yes?" she asked, her voice almost sing-song. When I spluttered and tried to phrase out a sentence, it took too long and she spun around and started walking off again.

"Wait, wait," I sighed, in defeat, and she stopped again, this time fully wheeled around and watched me hurrying to collect myself. "So what if I have a mild interest for Potter?" I whispered.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," she replied innocently.

I gritted my teeth. "Who gives a fuck if I have feelings for Potter?" I snapped, still keeping my voice low, especially seeing as there was a small group of Ravenclaw third years buried in books nearby.

"I really can't hear you Malfoy," Granger snorted. "You have to speak up."

" _So what if I bloody well like Potter?_ " I yelled, and instantly pinched the bridge of my nose as the studying students a few feet away glanced up and giggled.

"That's better," Granger laughed. "See, now that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

I felt the heat rising to my face as the Ravenclaws continued to laugh, murmuring among themselves. This would be all over the school by dawn's first light, so yes, it was pretty hard, but I grunted noncommittally in response.

"We both know he likes Quidditch, and sweets," she began, but my impatience had gotten the better of me. How _dare_ she play games with me? Hadn't my apologies been enough – hadn't I already embarrassed myself and what was left of my reputation that night, apologizing to a Mud- Muggleborn when I wasn't really sorry and then asking for her _assistance,_ chasing after said Muggleborn, and _then_ practically coming out of the closet in front of a gaggle of chatterboxes?

"Well I can't bloody well get him a sugar-coated Snitch can I?" I snarled, and she flinched. "Sorry," I muttered angrily. "Continue."

"As I was about to say before you rudely interrupted me," she resumed, sounding a little firmer now, "I'm sure you would like to give him something slightly more original, and if you mean to ask me what he told me he wants for Christmas, the answer to that is nothing." I was on the verge of cutting in when she held up a hand and went on, "Yes, Harry refuses to trouble us with gift requests, you know how he is. But if you mean to ask me what I think he would like you to buy him, I think you should get him something that looks like it has some thought behind it."

What was this, a cryptic message guessing game? "What the fuck does that mean?" I snapped.

"It means, you git," she replied, sounding even more stern now, "that it has to be something _meaningful_. Not a bunch of chocolate frogs, or a Quidditch book, or even an expensive new broomstick. Something creative that will touch him."

I stared at her in bemusement. Trust Harry to be one of those bloody complicated ones – you couldn't just get him a fucking quill, it had to be extraordinarily unique. "But what exactly..."

"Hermione, are you here?"

I stopped in midsentence at the resoundingly familiar sound of Harry's voice. _Fuck_. I backed away, but it was too late and he stepped around one of the shelves and spotted Granger.

"Ah, there you are, I think you have my quill..." He stopped short as he caught sight of me, and I hurriedly tried to look inconspicuous as a flush rose to my cheeks. I grabbed a book of the nearest shelf and started leafing through it, instantly regretting it because the book was bloody heavy and titled _A Hundred and One Love Potions._

"Don't be a twat, Malfoy," Granger said suddenly, and I had to restrain myself from bashing my head against said book at her readiness to admit that she had been speaking to me. "I don't have your quill, Harry, by the way, it's with Ron. Sorry for the delay, I was just talking to Malfoy."

"Were you now?" Harry asked, glancing up curiously. I groaned inwardly at the searching gaze he had fixed on me. Even though we were on better terms, it wasn't as if I could just expect him to trust me, but it hurt more than it should have that he was suspicious. And that his green eyes were every bit as captivating as ever.

"We were going on about Christmas, actually," the Muggleborn said conversationally, completely ignoring my frantic glances. " _Quite_ a pleasant topic."

"Christmas? That's in, what, a week?" he said. "Gosh, I'd nearly forgotten."

"Harry!" Granger exclaimed reproachfully, and I found myself wondering if they'd notice if I snuck off while neither were paying attention. "You mustn't be so careless – what about the Secret Santa program?"

My breath caught in my throat and I coughed loudly to cover up my gasp. Surely she wouldn't _tell_ him?

"Yeah, sorry," Harry replied, nodding absently. He spared me one last look, and it was so full of questions and suspicions that I instantly felt my heart sink – I'd never win this man over, even if he had to save me from one thousand vanishing staircases. "Look, we should get going, Ron's waiting up." With that, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist, a movement that looked practised from usage on millions of other girls.

Granger smiled, nodding, but turned to me first. "By the way, Malfoy, the eight years are organizing a small party on the day of the Secret Santa giveaway. It'll be held in the Gryffindor common room at seven o'clock."

"Fantastic for you," I replied coolly, trying not to notice the way Harry seemed to bristle at the implication behind her words.

"I'm inviting you, you prat," Granger chided good-naturedly. "Everyone will be there – though only about a hundred students because everyone else has gone home for Christmas – so it's simply fair that you come, too. Pass the message along to the other Slytherins, yeah?"

"Sure," I stated, trying not to roll my eyes at her lame attempts at encouraging house unity. Perhaps the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be able to stomach spending the night in the Gryffindor towers, but I doubted the eagerness of my housemates when it came to participating in such tiresome and probably pointless events. Not that I would tell her that.

"Great!" Granger grinned, tossing her bushy hair that had clearly known neither conditioner nor hairspray back over her shoulder. "I'll see you there, then. Goodnight, Malfoy!" She wheeled around and marched straight over to the door, looking quite like the cat that ate the canary.

I wasn't sure how this whole thing had somehow turned out in her favour, but the damned Muggleborn should have probably been a Ravenclaw.

Harry spared me one last glance. "Night," he said simply, before spinning on his heel and taking off after her retreating form.

"Yeah," I muttered, looking away, my spirits sinking. There was no way I could ever even hope for a mere _friendship_ with Harry. This whole Secret Santa thing, as much as I loathed it, would probably be the only chance I'd ever have to get into his good books.

The only question was, how?


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's POV

"No," I insisted, straining to keep my voice down as I poured another packet of sugar into my coffee. While the Great Hall was occupied by several students settling down for breakfast, it was neither abuzz with conversation nor full of pupils due to the Christmas holidays, and I didn't really want to be overheard. "I'm not going."

"Yes you are, Harry, and you know it," Hermione snapped a little too loudly, causing Neville to look up from his breakfast and shoot her a curious glance, which she fervently ignored.

"No, I am not!"

To my right, Ron let out an exasperated groan through a mouthful of hashbrowns. "Why do I get the feeling that we've had this conversation before?"

"Only because she keeps _insisting_ …"

"It's for your own good, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, looking flustered. "And for the good of the school. What will everyone think when you're not at the party?"

"I don't care what anyone thinks. I'm not going."

"Bloody hell, mate!" Ron cried out, accidentally spraying me with pancake crumbs. It was a mark of how used to him I was when I didn't wince despite being showered with chewed food. "You know she's going to talk you into it eventually. It can't be _that_ bad."

Oh, but it _was_ that bad. Now that the war was over, the only thing anyone ever wanted was to thank me over and over again and cast me awestruck looks. As if I was some sort of miracle. As if it was my own sheer power that had overthrown Voldemort. Only I knew it was just a stoke of dumb luck and involved a lot of help from equally brilliant friends.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I really don't want to go," I said shortly.

"Mate, is this about Ginny? Because you know she won't bother you anymore, especially not after you told her –"

I cut Ron off with a quick, "I'm not really hungry, I'll meet you guys back at the common room later," then grabbed my bag and scrambled out of my seat in a way that was decidedly not graceful. Splitting up with Ginny hadn't been an easy decision, and telling her had been near torture. She had never been the type to cry, and yet there she was, breaking down in sobs in front of me. It wasn't as dramatic as the rumours spreading around made it sound, though – it had only been a couple of tears escaping before she turned away and walked off in that typical brave manner of hers – but it still made me feel bad. I hadn't planned it to go that way, I had planned to sit her down and talk it out, but as soon as I tried, my never-ending awkwardness got in the way and I spoiled it all with two words.

" _I'm gay."_

Ron had taken it rather well, surprisingly, telling me, "You could have let her down more gently, mate, but it was better than leading her on," and then patting me on the back uncomfortably. Hermione had shrugged and given me her famous look, that I-knew-it-all-along-you-couldn't-have-been-more-obvious-or-maybe-it-wasn't-obvious-and-I'm-just-Hermione-Granger look. And that was that.

As I walked awkwardly away from the table, trying not to think about it, I caught a glimpse of someone watching me out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to see who it was. Draco (yes, I call him that in my head, get over it) sitting alone at the Slytherin table, his cold silver eyes trained on me. As my gaze met his, he cocked an eyebrow with arrogant ease and looked away, as if he had caught _me_ staring instead of the other way around. Bewildered, I shook my head and took off for Gryffindor tower.

To be honest, I never knew what to make of Draco Malfoy. He was the perfect picture of Slytherin – cunning, malicious, arrogant, always with some form of hidden agenda, and clearly not worth fretting over – but he always sort of _fascinated_ me. Perhaps it was simply that old habits die hard, and after practically stalking him for an all of sixth year, it just felt odd not to suspect him of performing dastardly deeds behind my back. But it's not as if I had no sense of self-control – I did. I intentionally refrained from using the Marauder's Map to look for him, and I tried not to invest myself too much in what and how he was doing now – obsession was unhealthy (and again, yes, I'd grown up enough in a couple of years to realize that it had indeed been obsession that made me stalk him).

My thoughts turned reluctantly to the Christmas party this Saturday, the day all Secret Santas would present their gifts. I had, for some strange reason, been assigned to Dennis Creevey, even though he was in my house. Although I never enjoyed the looks of awe he constantly flashed me whenever we passed in the hallways, I had a soft spot for him since the passing of his elder brother, Colin, in the war. Yet even thinking of him didn't change my mind – I was not going to go for the damned party, Secret Santa program be damned.

Unfortunately, thinking about Colin Creevey brought an onslaught of unwanted thoughts floating in and out of my brain, and I decided that sitting alone in the Gryffindor tower wouldn't help. _Flying_ would help.

I found myself on my Firebolt a few minutes later, zipping through the air and feeling all my troubles vanish as I left them behind me on the ground. The tension rolled off my shoulders easily, and a part of me wished I could just stay there forever, even though it was cold and the middle of winter. I couldn't have cared less – it wasn't snowing, after all, and the cool air kept me from overexerting myself. But of course, darkness fell over the grounds a lot sooner than I'd hoped. Ron and Hermione would be worried – well, maybe not Hermione, who would probably have spent the entire day with Blaise – but Ron would be positively _livid_.

Sighing, I touched down on the soft grass and dismounted my broom. It wouldn't do to return to the tower looking – and smelling – like this, so I popped into the Gryffindor locker room for a quick heated shower. I could already feel the tension starting to build up again inside my body, my mind refusing to not think for even two seconds.

I tried to take my time under the warm, running water, but I couldn't stop my brain from wondering between the Secret Santa program, Ginny, the war and even Draco Malfoy. Honestly, caring this much couldn't be good for health. Sometimes I had to wonder if it was easier to just not care at all.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel firmly around my waist, then made my way over to my locker, where I always kept a spare change of clothes just in case. I tugged it open – damned thing was always getting stuck – and was surprised beyond belief when a small box of Chocolate Frogs fell out of it and onto the floor. Startled, I bent down and picked it up, feeling slightly suspicious but also extremely curious. I turned it over in my hands and realized there was a small note taped to the back. The writing was neatly done in green ink but seemed purposefully messy, as though trying to hide its true identity. Perhaps it was a precaution to ensure that I didn't recognize it.

" _You look stunningly breathtaking when you fly._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

I raised an eyebrow, still anxious about its contents – what if they were laced with poison or a love potion or something? – but also feeling oddly touched. I had never really considered myself…err…stunningly breathtaking, in any situation, whether flying or on the ground. I wasn't stupid enough to think that girls went after me and Witch Weekly demanded photoshoots because I was good-looking – it was the whole "hero" factor that got people interested. If Neville had been the so-called Chosen One, no one would have ever spared me a second glance. But despite all these facts, it felt nice to be appreciated.

I performed a couple of wandless charms over the Chocolate Frogs, testing for dodgy ingredients, but found none, so I opened the box, unwrapped one of the candies and took a bite, decapitating a Frog. Chocolate always made me feel better, working almost as well as Quidditch and flying. I was pretty sure my Secret Santa was just another one of those crazy girls who still thought I was straight, or was hoping to turn me straight, but I felt suddenly a lot lighter. Although I couldn't justify it, the chocolate and the compliment lifted my spirits, and I found myself smiling as I made my way back to the castle for dinner.

* * *

I was rudely awoken the next morning by a crash and a shout of "Bloody hell!"

In a flash, I was up, leaping off my bed and landing in a defensive stance with my wand drawn, eyes darting from side to side as I tried to discern the cause of Ron's yell of alarm. Neville was up, too, blinking blearily but also with his wand at the ready, and I felt an odd little surge of pride at the constant vigilance that they still held on to and made use of. Mad-Eye would have been proud.

My slightly sentimental thoughts were interrupted when I saw the cause of the ruckus, and nearly burst into hysterical laughter. Ron and Neville had apparently seen the source, too, and Neville was the first to let out a nervous laugh.

A rock. Someone had enchanted a rock to fly into the window nearest to me and break it.

"What…?" Ron exclaimed, looking positively disgruntled but still too disoriented and sleepy to swear.

Shrugging, I leant down and picked it up. It felt like an ordinary stone, rough and bumpy, until it started glowing. I yelped and dropped it like it was a hot potato, jumped away and pointed my wand at it, my actions mirrored by my other two companions. However, after a few rather anticlimactic seconds, the rock merely dissolved and revealed a pack of Fizzing Whizzbees.

As Ron and Neville stared at the package of sweets with identical expressions of mixed confusion, bewilderment and mild amusement, I tentatively waved my wand over it, again checking if they were tampered with. Finally, deducing that they were not, I reached over and gingerly picked the packet up.

"Bloody hell," Ron stated, predictably, and shook his head. "I knew you had your fans, Harry, but _this_ …"

I frowned, turning it over, not sure what I was looking for, and felt an odd sense of satisfaction when I saw a note taped to the back in a slightly familiar, forcefully messy print.

" _You are undeniably one of the most annoying people I have met – quite like a Billywig – but I suppose it's part of the charm._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

I winced at the reminder that these sweets might contain insect body parts, but someone had obviously taken the time and effort to use an unusually complicated Transfiguration spell on it and turn it into a rock long enough for it to crash into his window, and it would only be polite to eat one, wouldn't it?

Ron stared at him like he was off his rocker when he casually opened the packet and popped one carelessly into his mouth.

"Are you out of your mind?" he gaped.

"Relax, it's from my Secret Santa," I replied around it, feeling an odd tingling sensation as my feet left the ground. It wasn't really so bad – I'd always liked them in a way.

"How is that supposed to make it better?" Ron cried, exasperated, looking on incredulously as I floated until I was taller than him by a few inches. Neville was watching with fascination, clearly not sure what to make of the situation.

Rolling my eyes, I explained the box of Chocolate Frogs I had discovered in my locker the day before, and Ron's eyes widened impossibly. "Mate, have you gone _mental_? They could be spiked with anything – remember Romilda Vane?"

Clearly deciding that this wasn't an argument he wanted to be a part of, Neville disappeared behind the curtains of his four-poster bed as I replied, "That's what I was checking for – there's nothing of that sort. Besides, you don't see me going all lovesick, do you?"

Ron paused, seeming to think about it. "Well, no…" Then he sighed. "Best not mention this to Hermione, though."

"Best not mention what?"

Ron and I leaped nearly a foot into the air – I bumped my head against the ceiling because I had been floating – and spun towards the door. I felt the magic of the candy wear off as I gently landed back onto the floor. "You girls should really stay out of the boys' dorm," I reprimanded, but Hermione was not letting herself get distracted.

"What is it you're not mentioning to me?" she insisted, her persistent tone informing me that she would not be backing down anytime soon.

I sighed and gave in, telling her about the little gifts my Secret Santa had been giving me. To my surprise, however, she didn't start lecturing me. Instead, she allowed her face to break into a semi-indulgent smile.

Ron got even more indignant at Hermione's easy attitude. "Hermione, don't tell me you think this is alright!"

"I'll think what I want to, Ronald," she replied smugly, causing him to roll his eyes and fall back dramatically onto his bed. "Besides, I find it very sweet."

"You do?" Ron and I exclaimed at the same time.

"As a matter of a fact, I do," she stated, her voice turning lightly stern. "You're very lucky to have this Secret Santa, Harry, whoever he is."

" _He_?" I repeated. "What makes you think it's a _he_?"

Hermione blinked, unconcerned. "Did I say that? Oh, well, you know what I meant. I'll see you boys down at breakfast."

Ron and I watched her leave. "Odd," Ron remarked.

I nodded, putting the remaining Fizzing Whizzbees into my drawer next to the leftover Chocolate Frogs, but privately, I couldn't help agreeing with Hermione.

* * *

The rest of the week continued on in a similar manner – the next day I discovered a note and some Cauldron Cakes waiting for me outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

" _You are, without a doubt, one of the most generous and selfless people I have ever met. And no, that was in no way a compliment._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

I couldn't help but smile slightly at the letter, even though Ron and Hermione argued about its implications – that being it was saying that selflessness was a bad thing and therefore my mystery gift-giver was a bad guy (according to Ron), or that it was simply meant as a joke and was adorable in its own little way (Hermione's opinion). Once more, I found myself agreeing with Hermione, although not out loud, lest Ron murder me.

* * *

The following day, an owl flew up to me at the breakfast table carrying a Smart-Answer Quill – a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product – with another note attached. It didn't draw too much attention to me, thankfully.

" _You have an incredibly attractive, wicked sense of sarcastic humour._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

Thankfully, Ron didn't have much to say about this one. "Clearly, if whoever it is buys stuff from George's, it can't be too bad."

* * *

However, he seemed to be rethinking the idea the next morning when a box filled with Treacle Tarts – by far my favourite desert ever – floated to me down the Great Hall. That definitely did draw a lot of attention to me, and even though I looked as hard as I could, I couldn't see anyone concentrating enough to be the person Levitating the gift to me.

" _The constant stream of compliments are probably hazardous for your already overfed ego, so you aren't getting any today. Besides, these are your favourite – should be enough for you. Let's not be greedy, now._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

For some strange reason, I found myself grinning like an idiot. My expression was not missed by Ron and Hermione.

"You shouldn't get used to this, mate – it's probably one of those crazy witches," Ron chided me. "Come on, Hermione, back me up."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying a bit of well-thought-out attention now and then," Hermione countered. "Besides, the mystery will all be solved at the Christmas party."

My heart immediately sank. Although the thought of meeting my Secret Santa intrigued me, I knew Ron was right – it was just another blind fan desperate for my attention. And nothing could possibly turn me straight at the moment, not even the most thoughtful girl in the whole of Europe. A feeling of dread settled in me. Although many people (Ron, for example), would love to have someone with them who worshiped their every move, that wasn't what I was after. I didn't want someone who was blind to my faults. I wanted someone who knew that I was a right prick but accepted me as I was anyway. "I'm still not going, Hermione."

Hermione appeared scandalized. "What? But it's just two days away! I thought you would have come around by now."

"Hermione, everyone will end up drunk and there will be too much Wizard Rock and I don't want any more attention," I replied, my voice turning weary.

I could see that she was readying herself for another high-powered debate, but thankfully we were interrupted by Blaise, who wanted to have breakfast with his girlfriend today, for some strange reason, with Draco trailing right behind him, looking reluctant. There was another girl walking with them, the younger sister of that Greengrass girl – Astoria, I think her name was. My curiousity was piqued, but I tried to ignore it – surely old habits didn't die _that_ hard? Why was I always so morbidly fascinated with Draco?

Hermione was distracted as Blaise slid into the seat next to her, and I had never felt so glad to see a group of Slytherins in my whole life. Astoria took a seat next to Blaise, then gave Draco a reproachful look that reminded me very much of Hermione's signature _behave_ glare, and Draco groaned and plonked down on her other side, clearly unhappy with the seating arrangements.

I was so busy observing them that I almost didn't catch Hermione mentioning me.

"…but of course Harry's being a right prick and refusing to show up…"

"Hey," I said, but without much venom in my voice.

"You're not going?" Blaise asked me, looking genuinely interested, throwing me off-guard.

I shook my head.

"Luckily, we're not _all_ wet blankets," Astoria cut in, laughing a very cute giggle. "We'll be there, Hermione."

Hermione looked surprised at being addressed directly, but smiled and took it in stride.

"Speak for yourself," Draco said suddenly, and all eyes were averted to him. "I'm not going."

"Why not?" Blaise asked, his eyes fixed warily on Draco. I was surprised to see a flash of something like a challenge in Blaise's dark eyes, but Hermione nudged his ribs in a semi-reprimand and nodded understandingly at Draco. I couldn't help but cock an eyebrow, not really sure what this display meant.

"Firewhiskey and loud spurts of The Weird Sisters isn't really my idea of a fun night," Draco replied easily, and I was struck by how similar our excuses were. Before anyone could comment, Hermione tactfully changed the subject, and all was forgotten, if only for a while.

* * *

The day before Christmas, I waited at the breakfast table for another gift. It wasn't that I was expecting it or anything, it was just that I had gotten used to it. But no gift came. I decided not to worry about it – maybe the girl had just discovered that I was gay.

Then, Hermione marched up to me, back from a night spent in the Slytherin dorms, waving the _Prophet_ in my face. "Page 25," she said as she tossed it to me.

I caught the paper, frowning, but opened it to said page and felt my jaw drop. Right there, an advertisement took up half the page, marked 'personal message', flashing different colours but otherwise remaining unmoving.

" _Disappointed? Well isn't that just like you. I hate to spoil you more than you already are, but there's a gift waiting for you at the first place._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

I gawped at it openly, barely noticing Ron's guffaws as he read it over my shoulder.

"The nerve of that girl!" Ron exclaimed. "To think you would be disappointed..."

Hermione pushed him aside. " _The first place_..." she muttered under her breath. "What does he mean?"

"Why do you keep saying it's a _he_?" Ron groaned.

I ignored both of them, knowing they were probably going to argue about my Secret Santa's gender for the rest of the day, instead setting down the paper and taking off running down the Great Hall.

"Hey...!"

"Harry!"

Ron and Hermione were on my tail in an instant, demanding to know exactly where I was heading to. I neglected to respond to them, suspecting that if they really wanted to know, they would simply follow me.

I sprinted to the Quidditch pitch, turning the corner and trembling from excitement as I shoved the boys' locker room open. Ron followed me in without hesitation, and Hermione hung around outside indecisively for only a second before following us in, wrinkling her nose and muttering something about boys' personal hygiene.

I forced open my locker eagerly, and a collective gasp fell from our lips in unison as our eyes fell on the beautiful sight before us.

Gently, hesitating only slightly, I lifted a deep scarlet rose from the centre of my locker, holding it aloft and careful, afraid to destroy such a wonderful force of nature. It was in full bloom and appeared to sparkle lightly.

Hermione was rummaging in my locker. She pulled out a piece of parchment from its depths, read it over quickly, and passed it to me.

" _You are the most beautiful man I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Don't let it get to your head – I haven't seen many people._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

I remained staring at the paper for the longest time, even as Ron demanded to know what it said, and remained in that position for a few long minutes before I tucked it into my pocket and spoke.

"I'm going."

"Huh?" she asked, blinking, not really focusing.

I turned to her, curiousity burning in my veins. I had to know who this was, who would have the means to put a half-paged coloured ad in the prophet for me, who had enough skill to Transfigure Fizzing Whizzbees into a rock for only a short period of time and Levitate a box of Treacle Tarts to me without making it obvious. "To the party. I'll go."

She smiled, and suddenly I felt as if I had been somehow tricked into it. "I knew you would."

* * *

The party was exactly how I'd expected it to be. Loud, full of wasted students, no longer awkward of uncomfortable at the idea of mingling with other Houses, mostly due to inebriation. I couldn't say that it wasn't fun – it certainly was entertaining to watch Ron make a fool of himself in front of all the popular girls, and it definitely supplied enough amusement to watch Blaise's pained expression at his discovery that Hermione couldn't really handle her drink (and a tipsy Hermione was a rather dangerous thing), but it was nearly the end of the night and no one had approached me to give me a gift yet. I was starting to wonder if the whole issue with my Secret Santa had just been either an elaborate hoax or a well-planned trick to get me to attend this damned party.

Dennis Creevey's eyes had lit up almost brightly enough to make up for the lack of my Secret Santa when I presented him with a camera reminiscent if his brother's – almost enough, but not quite.

I was about to throw in the towel when I felt someone tap my shoulder. I spun around, excited, but was let down at the sight of who it was.

"Malfoy," I said coolly, unable to keep the bewilderment from my voice. Although the blond and I had held a sort of grudging truce since the end of the war, neither of us made any effort to become friends and he had been avoiding me ever since I gave him his wand back.

"Potter," he replied, then sighed and shook his head. "I mean, Harry."

I wasn't expecting him to use my first name – it felt as if an unspoken agreement had been broken. And I certainly couldn't have been prepared for the odd feeling that prickled under my skin upon hearing it. "Draco," I responded politely, testing out the sound of the name on my lips. It felt weird, but not altogether bad. I supposed I could get used to it. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming?" I let it hang in the air as a question.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Point. So, what is it?"

Draco blushed, and my confusion increased as I studied him carefully, trying to figure out what was going on. His eyes refused to meet mine – I noticed, for the first time, that they weren't just grey, but a kind of silver, with flecks of light blue speckled along the iris – as he shifted uncomfortably, gripping a rather large packet in his arms – probably some sort of Christmas gift from his own Secret Santa. "Err…" he began, then frowned, flushed some more, and stopped.

"Any day now, Draco," I said, slightly irritated because I really just wanted to go to bed. To sleep, of course, just clarifying that for you in case it sounded a little weird.

"I…" Draco trailed off again, then took a deep breath. He seemed nervous – it was a rather adorable side of him, I noted absentmindedly, when he wasn't being a git. I shook the thought off as he suddenly shoved the package into my arms. I nearly dropped it from surprise. "I'm your Secret Santa," he blurted out. "I…umm…" Draco stammered a bit, as if trying to find the right words. "Happy Christmas," he managed.

"I..." I trailed off, just as lost for words as he was. " _You_ sent me those gifts, those notes?" I could scarcely believe it, and my heart was racing for some strange reason, a part of me wondering if this could be for real, but the logical part of me was instantly suspicious – was this some way to humiliate me? I eyed the package in my hands – it looked pretty ordinary, just a box wrapped in red and green paper – and turned it over warily. And there it was, a piece of parchment taped to the bottom of the box, the confirming factor.

" _Merry Christmas._

_Love, your Secret Santa."_

"You..." I could barely speak. I couldn't believe it. I could barely comprehend what was going on. "Did you...mean all those things?"

Draco shuffled uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot, and I knew I wasn't going to get an answer. Tentatively, I reached for the lid of the box.

"No, no, don't open it now!" he hissed urgently, and I glanced up at him in surprise. "Just…just wait till I'm gone, yeah?"

I cocked an eyebrow, now very much convinced that this was some sort of trick, but Draco gulped and backed off, then turned and ran down the hall, disappearing amongst the crowd.

Carefully, I set the package down on the floor and undid the ribbon on top of it. Nothing happened, but I was still suspicious as the red-and-silver silk slid to the ground. I backed away, hoping I wouldn't regret this, and lifted the lid of the box.

Nothing happened. No jinxes, no charms, no hexes. I re-approached it, and peered into it. Inside the box were two perfectly harmless little books, both rather heavy. One had a crimson velvet cover with golden borders in its design which swished easily along the corners and down the middle in a circular ring. The fact that it was in Gryffindor colours unnerved me slightly, mainly because it freaked me out a little that someone like Draco would touch anything of that shade with a ten foot pole, so I picked up the other one first. My jaw dropped. No. It definitely couldn't be…

But there was no doubt about it. I grasped the deep violet book tightly in my hands, turning it over and over. _The Noble Sport of Warlocks_ , by Quintius Umfraville. I had been searching for the book for ages, but most bookstores no longer carried it, and if they did, the price had always been jacked up a little too high. It baffled me how Draco had gotten his hands on it, or how he knew I wanted it.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, I reached back into the package and lifted out the other book. When I read the title, I stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out if it was a joke, a threat, or an invitation.

_Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more)._

As I scratched my head trying to figure out why this book seemed somewhat familiar, a slip of parchment dropped from under the cover. I turned it over and read, in Draco's careful, neat longhand, no longer purposefully diguised:

" _After we met in Diagon Alley, I passed by Flourish and Blotts and saw you staring intently at this book. I wasn't sure if you'd remember it, and I'm certain you no longer have a use for it, but think of it as a token. For old time's sake."_

I couldn't stop the smile spreading slowly across my lips as I read his hesitant words. I felt oddly touched that he would remember such a trivial detail, something I barely even remembered. Somehow, this relatively useless book meant more to me than the rarest book on Quidditch ever written.

"Hey Harry!" Hermione giggled, walking over to where I was, dragging an exasperated Blaise behind her. "Did ya know that Neville is dating Hannah?" she slurred, and I was momentarily impressed with the fact that she barely mispronounced anything in that sentence. "What's that?" she asked suddenly, pointing at the unwrapped gift on the floor as I hurriedly gathered the books into my arms and tried to put them back into the box.

"What? Oh, this?" I gestured towards the package lamely. "It's from my Secret Santa."

At the mention of my Secret Santa, she suddenly appeared to sober up. Blaise rolled his eyes. "It's quite a lot for an obligatory present, isn't it?" she questioned inquisitively, and I suddenly realized she wasn't all that drunk after all – just a little tipsy, but still sharp in that brain worthy of Rowena Ravenclaw. For a second I was afraid of the inevitable interrogation as to who exactly my Secret Santa was, but to my surprise she let the subject drop and exchanged an unnervingly knowing smirk with Blaise. "Well, have a good night, Harry. I won't be seeing you again tonight. I'll be spending the night at the Slytherin's."

I shuddered – too much information – but I covered it up as quickly as I could with a grin. "You too, Hermione. Blaise," I added.

The bright witch smiled and turned to walk off. I was about to leave, too, but Blaise stopped me by grabbing my collar fiercely and shoving me backwards. I stumbled into the wall, shocked. "What gives?" I snapped angrily, drawing my wand before he could try anything funny, but he ignored my move to defend myself, his grip on my collar tightening.

"If you hurt him," he hissed in my ear, "I'll hex you into next week."

"I'm sorry, what?" I gasped, but just like that, he released me and backed away, brushing his jacket down quickly.

"Have a good Christmas, Harry," he said pleasantly, and ran off after Hermione.

I stared after him, breathing heavily, wondering what exactly that was all about. Shaking my head as I tried unsuccessfully to clear it, I reached down and lifted the books up again, once more trying to place them back in the box so I could carry it slightly more easily (and maybe hide behind it). But before I could, I noticed another piece of parchment lying innocently at the bottom of the package. I frowned as I dropped the books back onto the floor and picked up the paper. I instantly recognized the educated, fancy cursive as Draco's, again.

_Dear Harry,_

_First of all, I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas, and I hope you've been doing well. And now that that's out of the way, I can stop beating around the bush._

_Perhaps this may come as a shock to you, but I've been trying to gain your acquaintance since the War ended. It might surprise you simply because I haven't tried especially hard, and not for lack of wanting to, but more because I've been regrettably slightly frightened to try to gain your trust, to be honest. So, needless to say, my few and far between attempts have been somewhat unsuccessful._

_I believe, now, however, that I have failed to gain your friendship because it isn't really your friendship that I want. I want something more than that, and I know that it's selfish of me, but don't lecture me about my selflessness or lack thereof because we both know that I'm a Malfoy, and by rule, Malfoys are selfish, and all that._

_Oh for fuck's sake, let me just get to the point, shall I? I like you. I like everything about you. I like your green eyes that always seem to twinkle at me, even when they're flashing with anger because I tripped you or called you a name. That's why I always used to bully you – for that intense look in your eyes. I like your stupid glasses even though I act like I hate them because I like how you constantly feel the need to push them up your nose when you're reading. I like your damned messy hair that never behaves because I like how you always run your fingers delicately through it to neaten it but only manage to make it even messier, and I like your fingers too, especially when they're reaching out to grab the Snitch in mid-air. I like the way you fly and the joy that brings light to your eyes when you're up in the air. I like how addicted you are to Treacle Tart. I like how you chew your quill in class, especially during History of Magic and Potions, even though it makes it incredibly difficult for me to concentrate. I like how you always just want to get in trouble and go on an adventure, even at the expense of your own life, even though it gives me a little bit of a fright every time you disappear. And I like how you sneak around in that invisibility cloak, and I like your insufferable hero complex, but most of all I like how you make me hate you because I think I might be in love with you._

_I understand if you don't feel the same way. Your friends will laugh, the press will have a field day, and your reputation would end up as bad as mine. Everyone knows I don't deserve you. But if you by any chance do at least feel a little like I do, then meet me by the lake at midnight. If you don't, then just forget about this letter, and I promise to never bring it up again._

_Merry Christmas._

_Draco Malfoy_

It took me several moments to fully register everything he wrote, and it took me even longer to realize what this meant. He _liked_ me. Draco Malfoy liked me. The words played over and over again in my head, like a broken record. I didn't understand, I simply _couldn't_ fathom what had caused this unexpected confession. And worse still, I didn't know how to feel about any of it. Shouldn't I have been disgusted, or shouldn't I have run off to find Hermione and beg her to hide me? Was that what Blaise meant, when he warned me not to hurt him?

And suddenly, just like that, my obsession over Draco clicked into place.

I stood up shakily, depositing the books back into the box and shoving them behind a pillar and casting a Notice-Me-Not charm on them. I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know why I wanted to rush to the lake despite the fact that it was only 11:30, not yet midnight, and I didn't know if I was going to punch Draco or push him into the lake or kiss him or hex him or whatever.

All I knew was I had to see Draco. Now.

* * *

My feet slipped against the cold, wet snow covering the grounds. It was snowing lightly, flecks getting caught in my hair and clouding my glasses, but I didn't care. The frozen lake stretched out ahead of me, the ice cracked in some places where the Giant Squid has decided to crash against. But I wasn't there to conduct an evaluation of the Giant Squid's abilities – I was there for Draco.

The man I was searching for was leaned against a tree, cheeks flushed from the cold, his delicate frame visible even through his coat, his neck hidden by a dark green scarf. Even all covered up, there was no denying the beauty of Draco Malfoy.

When he saw me, he stared for a few moments, surprised, before righting himself and turning to gaze casually back out onto the lake, keeping his position against the tree.

"It's not midnight yet," he says softly.

"I know," I said shortly. "I need to talk to you." I winced at how awful that sounded, and clearly, Draco thought so too, because he refused to meet my eye.

"Sorry," he muttered, and I nearly jumped at the idea of the former Slytherin Prince apologizing to me. Actually apologizing. For what, though?

"There's no need to be," I replied hastily, trying to figure out how to say this. Gosh, I was really never all that good at this, was I? "Did you...was all that for real?"

Draco's face darkened and he buried it in his hands, and I very nearly lamented the loss of view. "Salazar, I've ruined this, haven't I?" he groaned.

"No, no, you haven't ruined anything!" I exclaimed in a rush, still struggling to find words.

"Gosh, I'm such an idiot," he mumbled, appearing to either not hear me or merely ignore me. "I mean, after all that build-up, with the sweets and the gifts and the fucking advertisement, and then all you get is me." He got up, away from the tree, and started pacing as though trying to run but not sure how.

"No, Draco, listen..."

"I shouldn't have expected you to feel the same way, or even remotely consider being my friend, I mean, after all I put you through?" he went on, all form of articulate, eloquent expression gone. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that, I've made a mistake..."

"Draco, would you just..." But he was still going on and on, rambling. It was really going to be hard to explain myself if he kept talking like that.

"It wasn't anything, I swear, I was a little drunk when I wrote that last letter, I didn't mean to include it, I wasn't thinking straight, and..."

Frustrated and desperate, I launched myself at him and tackled him to the ground. The earth beneath us was frozen solid, and the cold almost hurt my hands because I had forgotten to bring my gloves.

"Merlin, Harry, what the fuck...?" he gasped, but this time, I cut him off.

"I like you, you idiot!" I yelled in his face, trying to get him to understand.

"You...what?"

"I fucking like you too," I snapped. "The feeling is mutual. I am attracted to you. I am infatuated by you. I might even be fucking _obsessed_ with you. I don't know how else I can put it, really. I like your eyes, your stupid blond hair, your half-smile half-smirk that should look arrogant but just looks hot. I like your daft habit of doodling in Potions class when you should be paying attention, and then getting away with it whenever Slughorn calls on you because you always know all the fucking answers. I like how you never seem to shut up even when you should because you don't know what's good for you, and I find it incredibly fucking sexy how you stand up for yourself even when people misjudge you, and I think I might fucking well love you too!"

Silence.

Oh for...he decided to choose _now_ of all times to shut up?

My frustration and anger only increased when he continued to stare at me with those gorgeous, confused silver eyes, his mouth slightly open and lips slightly parted, cheeks red from more than the cold, his hair mussed from falling and losing his hat somewhere in the snow, flecks of snow caught in them and making it even more unreal than before. How can anyone be so fucking beautiful with that expression of shock on their face?

"Well don't leave me hanging!" I shouted. "Say something!"

Another moment of silence, and then his right hand reached around the back of my neck and he crushed our lips together. I gasped, shocked, which allowed him to plunge his tongue into my mouth and kiss me deeply, twining our tongues together. It took only a moment for me to jolt back to my senses and return the kiss, feeling his lips, chapped from cold, working against mine, fitting oh, so perfectly together and leaving me wondering why I had ever liked girls in the first place. It was desperate and hot and filled with passion.

We broke apart, gasping for air, and he smirked at me sexily, but there was still a small amount of uncertainty in his eyes. "Are you...sure?"

I growled in frustration. "Oh for fuck's sake. You are such an idiot."

He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, I shut him up more effectively by kissing him again. He melted against me, and our mouths moved in perfect symphony, as I poured everything I had into that kiss, wondering if it was possible to give away your soul like this.

Not that it was necessary. Draco already had my heart, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes the last scene and puts in Draco's POV, and then adds a couple of other scenes. I apologize in advance for my 14-year-old self's terrible attempt at smut. :P

Draco's POV

My heart was still doing impressive circus tricks when I got to the lake. My brain was whirling – had I made a mistake? Could I really win Harry bloody Potter over with little notes and gifts? Salazar knew he was as sentimental as a Hufflepuff, but that didn't change the fact that I was Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, and no one who anyone in their right mind would want to be with.

The bark of the tree I had chosen to rest against was cutting into my back, probably ruining my expensive coat, but I hardly cared. Snow was falling rapidly down from the sky, pelting my face with icy numbness. The lake was frozen, cracked in places but otherwise covered with a smooth layer of ice. Still, it looked as if the cool exterior, the facade of flawlessness and ease on the surface of the lake was cracking slowly, as if about to reveal the icy depths beneath it, but too afraid to do so. Or was I just talking about myself?

I continued to gaze out into the distance, trying desperately not too worry too much about Harry, when I heard shuffling behind me. I stiffened instinctively, spinning around, and nearly choked on a rush of blood to my face when my eyes fell on Harry. He'd clearly forgotten his hat, and his scarf, and his gloves, and was probably freezing to death, but the snow in his hair and the greenness of his eyes and the blush in his cheeks took my breath away. Even all flustered, there was no denying the beauty of Harry Potter.

I averted my glance back to the lake. "It's not midnight yet," I whispered, mentally cursing myself for stating the obvious.

"I know," he replied, his tone short and brisk. It hurt. "I need to talk to you."

I winced at that phrase and stared determinedly away from him. He didn't feel the same way. I just knew it. "Sorry," I said, trying to sound cold but failing ultimately.

"There's no need to be," he interjected, a little too quickly. Fuck. He wasn't going to do this the easy way, was he? He was going to try and let me down gently, like the Gryffindor he was. "Did you...was all that for real?" he asked again, and all my remaining hope crumbled in my heart. He thought it was a joke. He thought I would prank him like that – he still thought of me as a Death Eater. Nothing more, nothing less.

I buried my burning face in my hands. "Salazar, I've ruined this, haven't I?" I groaned. I had only wanted his friendship first, but then I had gone and lost all hope of doing even that.

"No, no, you haven't ruined anything!" I heard him say, but I was barely listening.

"Gosh, I'm such an idiot," I mumbled, suddenly realizing just how stupid it was. "I mean, after all that build-up, with the sweets and the gifts and the fucking advertisement, and then all you get is me." I realized I had left the tree and was now pacing around aimlessly. My mind was whirling, racing, and he was probably saying something but I didn't want to hear it. "I shouldn't have expected you to feel the same way, or even remotely consider being my friend, I mean, after all I put you through?" he went on, all form of articulate, eloquent expression gone. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that, I've made a mistake..." I could hear him talking, most likely mumbling some sort of apology for breaking my heart or something, but there was so much pent-up emotion building inside of me that I couldn't stop. "It wasn't anything, I swear, I was a little drunk when I wrote that last letter, I didn't mean to include it, I wasn't thinking straight, and..."

All of a sudden, before I could say another word, I felt another body collide with mine, knocking the wind out of me as I tumbled to the floor. My hat slipped off of my head as Harry fell on top of me, successfully pinning me down with his weight. It was getting hard to think with him pressed on top of me like that. "Merlin, Harry, what the fuck...?" I gasped, but before I could go on, Harry leaned closer and started shouting.

"I like you, you idiot!" he yelled.

I struggled against him without success, then realized exactly what he had just said. No...it couldn't be, I daren't hope... "You...what?"

"I fucking like you too," he snapped. He looked livid, pissed off, frustrated, and I realized that it was a rather good look for him – face all flushed so beautifully, eyes flashing in that way I loved, lips moving and looking so fucking _kissable_. "The feeling is mutual. I am attracted to you. I am infatuated by you. I might even be fucking _obsessed_ with you. I don't know how else I can put it, really. I like your eyes, your stupid blond hair, your half-smile half-smirk that should look arrogant but just looks hot. I like your daft habit of doodling in Potions class when you should be paying attention, and then getting away with it whenever Slughorn calls on you because you always know all the fucking answers. I like how you never seem to shut up even when you should because you don't know what's good for you, and I find it incredibly fucking sexy how you stand up for yourself even when people misjudge you, and I think I might fucking well love you too!"

I couldn't speak. My heart was racing, threatening to burst from my chest and sing a song of joy. Harry was obviously frustrated by my response, or lack thereof, and he looked so dangerously murderous my breath was stolen from me again as I was rendered completely speechless. How could anyone be so fucking beautiful with that expression of pure irritation on their face?

"Well don't leave me hanging!" he shouted. "Say something!"

I still couldn't form any coherent words, my Pureblood eloquence having completely deserted me, and in an effort to convey my message I reached behind his neck and brought him to me, crushing our lips together, and _oh Merlin,_ he tasted so good, just as I'd always imagined. He gasped, shocked, which allowed me to plunge my tongue into his mouth and kiss him deeply, twining our tongues together. I worried about his unmoving frame beneath me until he began to press his lips back against mine. One of his hands came around and wound itself in my hair, and the emotions I was experiencing were explosive. His lips, chapped from cold, worked against mine, fitting oh, so perfectly together, and all I wanted was more, more, _more_.

As the need for air took over, he pulled away first, gasping for air, and I made an effort to give him my signature, superior smirk, still half-worried. "Are you...sure?" I whispered, terrified and horrified at how small my voice sounded.

Harry growled in an almost animalistic manner, and the sound shot straight to my groin. "Oh for fuck's sake," he hissed. "You are such an idiot."

I was about to think up some sarcastic retort, but didn't get the chance to as he reached for me and pulled me easily into another mind-blowing kiss, and just like that, I was lost. Our mouths moved in perfect symphony as I poured everything I had into that kiss, wondering if it was possible to give away your soul like this.

Not that it was necessary. Harry already had my heart, anyway.

* * *

I have to admit, that my first reaction when I awoke the next morning on a frighteningly red-draped bed, being spooned from behind by another warm body, was a moment of complete confusion. Firstly, I was fairly certain that I had not, under any circumstances, gotten drunk yesterday, but this was definitely _not_ his bed – too many Gryffindor colours. Also, I was fully clothed, and I never slept while completely dressed. Ever.

The person snuggling me breathed softly against my neck, and a rush of memories began swirling around my head. I felt heat rushing to my face as I realized it was _Harry_ who had his arms wrapped around me, _Harry_ who had insisted I stay the night with him, regardless of what anyone else would think.

"They're all far too drunk to notice us, anyway," he had said, as he dragged me back to the Gryffindor common room after many long moments of snogging in the snow. I had barely noticed the cold, and could barely notice it now in the empty dorm room – my skin felt too hot all of a sudden.

"Mm," Harry murmured against my neck, slowly starting to stir. I shuddered involuntarily as he exhaled against a particularly sensitive spot behind my ear. I turned over in his grasp so I could face him. His eyes were closed, his impossibly long eyelashes giving him a decidedly adorable look and his lips slightly parted and looked so perfectly _kissable_. A part of me felt that I could watch him sleep forever and ever.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, stretching in an impossibly sensual manner. His deep emerald eyes looked dazed for a moment before focusing on me. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," I replied, suddenly feeling as if I was brimming with emotions, and I had to bite my lip to keep from letting out a string of soppy, Hufflepuff-worthy lines.

Apparently, I was so easy to read that Harry's face lit up in a beautiful, dazzling smile that could give the morning sun a run for its money. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a slow, languid kiss, taking his time, dragging me in a little deeper and melting me a little further with each slight movement of his lips against my own.

Our movements gained passion even further (if that was possible) as he ran his hands down over my chest and I fisted his hair in my right hand, allowing my other hand to run down his side until it came to rest on his thigh. We both shivered, and I felt a certain hardness press into my thigh.

I paused, drawing back and cocking an eyebrow. Harry blushed, embarrassed, and I decided that red was a nice colour on his as he tried to inch his way out of my arms. "Sorry, morning problem," he muttered, flushing about one million different shades of pink and scarlet.

I smirked, leaning across him, hoping he didn't notice my fingers trembling. "Want me to take care of that for you?"

His eyes went comically wide, and he bit his already swollen lip, worrying it with his teeth. My gaze automatically followed the movement, and I felt my own morning arousal increase.

"Don't tell me you've never...?" I asked quietly.

"Not with a guy. I mean, I've fooled around, but never seriously," Harry clarified, flushing, and I hurriedly tried to conceal the brief flash of jealousy that might or might not have shown in my eyes.

I unsuccessfully tried to keep a stupid grin off of my face. "That's cute."

He flushed again, diving back down and hiding his face in his pillow.

"Oh, come _on_ , Harry," I grinned. "Everyone thinks we've already shagged anyway."

Harry instantly stopped what he was doing, and I tried to focus myself when I caught sight of his serious expression. "Everyone?"

"You didn't think we'd be able to cross a room filled with over fifty students without someone at least _seeing_ us?" I questioned, suddenly worried that he might not have wanted anyone to know about this quite just yet. After all, he was everyone's bloody Chosen One, wasn't he? And I was just a boy who made all the wrong choices in life, and then some.

"I…I suppose you have a point," he said quietly, and my heart instantly started sinking – he just wanted me to be his dirty little secret. "But that means everyone thinks we're…you know…together."

"So?" I snapped, scooting away from him. "Sorry if that's not what you wanted."

"No, no!" Harry reached out, grabbing my wrist and sending a fuzzy feeling running from the spot where his skin touched mine. "I merely meant…I mean…you don't mind?"

I gaped at him. He hadn't been worried about people knowing at all, he had been worried about _my_ reaction! "Me? I…why would I mind?"

"I just…" Harry trailed off. "I mean, it's not really…a good thing for you, is it? I mean, being gay, and all that, for your reputation."

I smirked. "Really, everyone's Golden Boy shagging me, bad for my reputation?" I snickered. "Do you _think_ I'd want to hide that?"

He laughed, and the sound stopped my heart for a few seconds before I remembered to breathe again. "Prat," he grinned.

I chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his soft, warm lips. "So, how about we get rid of that problem?"

"I…" Harry began, but I reached down and cupped his crotch through his trousers, and he gasped instead. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed.

I chuckled. "That's the general idea."

He arched into my touch, groaning, and pulled me down hurriedly, crashing our lips together in an urgent, almost desperate kiss, running his tongue along the inside of my mouth and reaching places in it that I wasn't even aware existed. He ran his tongue experimentally along the roof of my mouth, and a rather embarrassing whimper slipped from my throat. He moaned in response, mumbling something about too many clothes. I couldn't help but agree with him. He pulled away and I groaned at the loss until his mouth latched onto my neck, sucking and nipping at the flesh before making quick, awkward work of my shirt, unbuttoning it and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to my flesh, stopping right above the waistband of my trousers as I squirmed out of the sleeves.

"Wait…don't you think someone might walk in?" I gasped, trying to keep whatever sanity I had left before I lost myself too completely in Harry.

"Right," he replied, outstretching his hand towards the door absentmindedly and waving it. I was about to question him when I heard the telltale sound of Locking and Silencing Charms cast on the doors.

"Show off," I muttered, minutely impressed by the powerful display of nonverbal, wandless magic, and pulled him back to me. I struggled with his shirt, trying to get it over his head. "Damn it!" I swore. "Why do you _wear_ these Muggle shirts, Harry?" We tussled with it a few seconds longer before I got frustrated and mumbled a spell under my breath, vanishing our clothes completely.

"Eager," Harry whispered hotly in my ear, and I shuddered. "Now _who's_ showing off with that wandless charm?"

"Shut up," I hissed, drawing back to admire Harry in all his naked glory. He was muscular, but not too much so, well-toned from years of Quidditch and fighting the Dark Lord, his skin lightly tanned, his prick jutting out, the head leaking pre-come and twitching under my perusal. I glanced up at his face – he was blushing, again, looking slightly uncomfortable under my gaze. "Gorgeous," I decided, whispering truthfully.

His jaw dropped for a split second before he launched himself against me, locking me in another one of those mind-blowing kisses and nearly knocking me off the bed.

"Now who's eager?" I teased, but he bit against my ear and a groan ripped through my throat, and rolled me over so he was pinning me down. Not willing to be outdone, I thrust my hips upwards, grinding against him. It had the desired effect as he groaned, relishing in the exquisite feeling of cock on cock. However, he didn't seem to want to relinquish control as he gave me a decidedly Slytherin-like smirk that made my blood run just a little hotter and slunk downwards, licking a trail from my collarbone to my nipples to my stomach, stopping right above the place I wanted him to kiss the most. I let out a frustrated sound as he bypassed by crotch and proceeded to press kisses to the insides of my thighs. "Harry, quit fucking _teasing_ ," I snarled, and in response, he flicked his tongue across my balls. " _Shit, Harry!"_

He chuckled, but only for a second as he wrapped his lips around the head of my cock. I let out a strangled moan as he sucked tentatively for a while. I realized quickly that he was by no means inexperienced at giving blowjobs as he ran his tongue up the length of my shaft, causing me to whimper, and then took my entire length in his mouth. " _Fuck_!" I yelled, nearly coming on the spot, clutching the sheets in my hands and writhing. Just as I was about to lose it, he withdrew, giving me another sexy smirk, and waved his hand in the direction of his drawer, nonverbally and wandlessly _Accio_ ing a bottle of lube. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked embarrassed again.

"I said I'd never done it before, not that I didn't know how," he shot at me, pouring out a generous amount onto his hand, face burning. I was trying to come up with a witty retort when I felt one of his fingers gently probing my entrance. I gasped as I felt one of them enter me. "You alright?" he asked.

"For fuck's sake, I'm not made of porcelain," I snarled, bucking on his finger and trying to get it deeper into me. He obviously took the hint as he quickly inserted another finger in and scissored me, eliciting a long, drawn out moan. " _Harry_! I need you…please…"

He groaned and nodded, withdrawing both fingers and I lamented the loss for a mere second before I felt something decidedly larger pressing against my arse. Slowly, I felt it penetrating me. It wasn't the first time I had done this, but it had been a while since I last bottomed and a not entirely unpleasant ache was beginning to spread across my body. I rocked back and forth, drawing him further in until he was fully sheathed in me. He paused for a moment to give me time to adjust, but I didn't even care about the numbing pain, I just wanted _moreharderfasternow_.

"Move," I ordered through gritted teeth.

Harry was all too happy to oblige, slowly starting up a rhythm. " _Fuck_ ," he gasped. "So…fucking…tight…"

"Harry!" I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist and trying to draw him in deeper. He thrust into me with increasing speed, picking up a fast but gentle pace, experimenting with different angles, almost as if he was searching for something, and then…

I very nearly screamed as Harry hit that bundle of nerves within me, and he paused for a minute to make sure I was okay.

"Fuck, do that again," I begged.

He smiled and obliged, hitting that exact spot over and over again, his movements becoming more erratic as I unraveled beneath him, lost in pleasure. I could barely get any coherent thought through my head, much less form a legible sentence, feeling liquid pleasure pooling in my stomach as I repeated, _yes_ , _fuck_ and _more_ in an odd sort of chant, and Harry fucked much like the Gryffindor he was, giving as good as he got.

He drew me into his lap so I was practically sitting on him and I impaled myself on his cock as he met each of my thrusts halfway. It was too much for me, but I wanted this to last forever and ever and…

I felt my balls tighten as Harry grabbed my prick and began to stroke it in time with our thrusts. "You're so beautiful," he whispered in my ear. "Come for me, Draco."

And that was all it took. Just like that, I let out a loud, garbled cry of "Harry!" and my head fell forward into Harry's shoulder as I shuddered, my entire frame wracked by violent shivers of pure pleasure as I came, spurting white strings of come over Harry's hand and my own stomach. He held me close as I rode out my high. It only took him a few more thrusts, and a well placed kiss and bite to his neck, and he was reaching his climax as well. I sat back and marveled at the sight of him coming undone – his head fell backwards and his mouth opened in a cute O shape, my name falling like a litany from his lips, the way he arched his back like a cat and shook violently against me. He was beautiful.

We fell back into the covers, and I rested my head comfortably against his chest, loving the feeling of completion I experienced when he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, relishing in the feel of how well we fit together.

"We should probably get up," I muttered. Sunlight was streaming in through the curtains, and I was pretty sure we would be hungry in a little bit.

"Shh," he admonished, and I could feel him smiling against my temple as he stroked my hair. "Go to sleep."

A protest died on the tip of my tongue as he kissed my forehead again, and I just sighed contentedly until I felt a cold and rough sensation running through me, recognizing the effects of a _Scourgify_.

"Show off," I repeated quietly, before drifting off into a deep, happy sleep.

* * *

I awoke alone, in a still-empty dorm room, about two hours later. I felt a pang of disappointment when I realized that Harry wasn't anywhere in my vicinity, and even more so when I realized that because I had Vanished all our clothes, I had visibly nothing to wear.

I got up slowly, wincing at the literal pain in my arse, wondering if I would have to go around waddling like a penguin for the rest of the week, when I caught sight of a pile of neatly folded clothes at the edge of the bed. I couldn't stop the smile of anticipation from creeping onto my face as I crept towards it. They were clearly Harry's, but I found that I didn't mind in the least, especially when I saw a piece of parchment resting comfortably on top of it.

" _Seeing as you so conveniently Vanished all our clothes, you'll just have to wear mine for a while. Oh, stop your complaining, just because they aren't cashmere doesn't mean they aren't comfortable. Besides, you look beautiful no matter what you wear._

_Love, Harry."_

I smiled, picking up the clothes he had selected for me, slipping on the grey long-sleeved shirt, flushing as I tugged on the pair of boxers and the slim-fitting black trousers that weren't quite as tight on me. Under the pile of clothes was another piece of parchment.

" _I felt a little bad that after all that stuff you gave me, I didn't buy you a Christmas present. Go on, call me a sentimental Gryffindor, I don't care. Anyway, I managed to get you something and it's waiting for you._

_Love, Harry."_

I grinned despite myself, pocketing both pieces of parchment and toeing on my shoes, which were somehow still intact. I braced myself for what I was sure would be a storm of demands and questions, then opened the door from the dormitories.

Almost everyone was still there, all different houses mixed together and chatting mindlessly. Apparently, Granger's attempts at achieving house unity had worked somewhat. I received several curious glances, and a few heated glares, but no one got up and challenged me. Blaise was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere with Granger, but Astoria saw me and smiled, then walked right up to me.

"Hi," she said with a small smile, and a few extra heads turned out way because of her presence.

"Hi," I replied, glancing around. "Does everyone…?"

"Yes, we all know," she confirmed, her eyes bright with humour. "But Harry marched out of that dorm about an hour ago and yelled at everyone that yes, both of you shagged, and no one is allowed to say anything or ask you about it, and if they did, they'd have to answer to him."

I flushed, grinning, trying not to look too pleased with myself.

"Oh, yes, I was supposed to give you this," she added, handing me another folded piece of parchment. "And as per instruction, I didn't read it."

"Or did you?" I questioned, cocking an eyebrow as I took it. I wouldn't put anything past that Slytherin.

She gasped in mock-horror, adopting a hurt expression and feigning sadness. "Oh, Dray, I _can't_ believe you'd accuse me of doing such a horrible thing!" she exclaimed in a highly-insulted stance. She turned tail and walked off, acting stung, then stopped halfway through to wink at me over her shoulder. I laughed. I'd never know for sure if she peeked at it or not, but who was I to complain?

I unfolded the note, and a small Pumpkin Pastry fell out of it into my hand.

" _What, did you think I was going to make it easy for you? No way, Mr Malfoy, you'll have to find me. Although I do suggest looking in 'the first place' first. If nothing else, at least you'll get a nice, quick shower. Or not so quick. I'll leave that up to you._

_Love, Harry."_

I grinned, quirking a smile. This was definitely the greatest Christmas gift I had ever received. Without a single moment's hesitation, I rushed out of the Gryffindor common room, ignoring mutters from all around me and feeling just like I did when I was five-years-old on Christmas and had just gotten my first racing broom.

Harry was going to be the death of me. I was totally, completely fucked. And hopefully in the literal sense, too.

THE END


End file.
